


the things we do to survive (or that time we got married)

by greenteafiend



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Getting Together, M/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenteafiend/pseuds/greenteafiend
Summary: “I can’t get any aid except for unsubsidized loans unless I have a child, get married, or turn 24.” Lance groaned loudly. “I can’t afford my last two semesters if I don’t qualify for aid. What am I gonna do, drop out for two years and just hang out until I turn 24?”“Get married then,” said Keith dismissively.Keith was so accustomed to tuning out Lance’s chatter and answering with the occasional ‘mm-hm’ or ‘sure’, that silence actually had him looking up from his reading. He found Lance staring right back at him, an uncharacteristically contemplative look in his eye.“Why don’t we get married?” he said slowly, sounding the words out.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 627





	the things we do to survive (or that time we got married)

“Why is being an adult so hard?” whined Lance, dropping his head to the desk with a loud thud. 

“Capitalism,” answered Keith absently, the majority of his attention still focused on the paper he was reading and highlighting. 

“I can’t get any aid except for unsubsidized loans unless I have a child, get married, or turn 24.” Lance groaned loudly. “I can’t afford my last two semesters if I don’t qualify for aid. What am I gonna do, drop out for two years and just  _ hang out _ until I turn 24?” 

“Get married then,” said Keith dismissively. 

Keith was so accustomed to tuning out Lance’s chatter and answering with the occasional ‘mm-hm’ or ‘sure’, that silence actually had him looking up from his reading. He found Lance staring right back at him, an uncharacteristically contemplative look in his eye. 

“Why don’t  _ we  _ get married?” he said slowly, sounding the words out. 

Keith blinked. “What?” 

“Why don’t we get married?” Lance repeated, more animated, as if he was warming up to the idea.

“Keith, think about it. Our dorm  _ sucks _ . If we got married, we could find a place off campus, and I  _ know _ you need a better fafsa application, too.” 

These things were all true. Their dorm  _ did  _ suck; it was moldy and cold with very little insulation, and locks that barely functioned. Keith had returned to their dorm just the other day to find their door swinging open freely, and vomit all over the floor—some drunken coed had mistaken their room for the communal bathrooms. 

“Okay, let’s do it.” The words slipped out before Keith could fully register what he was saying, but he found that he  _ meant  _ it. 

“And also if we get married we can—” Lance halted the spiel he’d been working himself up to abruptly. “Wait— _ really? _ Wow, thought I’d have to convince you more.” 

“I really hate our dorm. I really  _ really  _ wanna live literally  _ anywhere  _ else.”

“Okay, man. Let’s do some research.” 

Half an hour of googling later, they had a rough plan.

“So it’ll cost us fifty bucks to go down to the courthouse to do the thing, and then collect our marriage certificate. We’ll cite ‘irreconcilable differences’ when we wanna get divorced, and we don’t need lawyers or a prenup seeing as neither of us has a penny to our name, unless you want half my student loan?”

“No, thanks,” said Keith quickly. Lance’s answering grin was amused and dimpled.

“Cool, just checking. So I guess all we gotta do is decide a day. Are you free on Saturday?”

“Yeah, but the courthouse isn’t open on the weekend,” replied Keith, tilting his laptop screen so Lance could see their hours of business. 

“What about Tuesday? I finish class at three that day.” 

Lance shook his head. “Na, I got a clinic that day, all day. What about Friday morning? Your first class is at like, ten, right? And the place opens at eight.”

“That could work,” said Keith, nodding. “Who’ll we get to be witnesses, though?” 

“Romelle would do it.”

“Your lab partner?”

“Yeah. We gotta have two though, what about Shiro?”

“Uhh…” Keith winced when he imagined Shiro’s reaction. “I don’t think he’d approve…”

Lance’s face fell. “Why not? I’m a  _ catch _ , I thought he liked my jokes.”

“Not because of you, I don’t think he’d approve of me marrying anyone for—for  _ convenience.  _ He’d probably offer to let me stay with him and Adam for free which would be better than here to be honest, but I don’t wanna put that on him. He always needs to—to swoop in and fix things. Made things better for me. But I wanna do that for myself.” Keith didn’t want to be a burden to Shiro, anymore than he already was. 

“I know what you mean,” replied Lance. “My parents… they’re already doing as much as they can for me, and I love them for it, but if they knew I was resorting to something like this…” Lance grimaced. So they were on the same page, willing to hide things from their family to spare them worrying. 

“So what should we tell them? Or should we  _ not _ tell them?” Keith asked. 

“How can we not? They’re gonna wonder how we moved out of the dorms…” A look of intense concentration stole over Lance’s face. It was a look that Keith had been conditioned to associate with _ trouble _ . “What if we play it straight?” 

“What, find wives?” Keith wrinkled his nose in distaste. Nothing against women, but Keith did not want a wife. Not even a fake one.

Lance snorted. “No, what if we just let everyone think we got married because we want to?” 

Keith blinked, running that sentence through his brain again, uncomprehending. “You want to tell your parents that we got married because… because?” Keith’s brows furrowed in confusion; nope, he still didn’t get it. Not even in the face of Lance making  _ ‘come on!’  _ motions with his hands, urging Keith to  _ know _ . This happened often; conversations with Lance felt like labyrinths of confusion and innuendo roughly half the time. 

“What if we tell them we got married because we actually like each other!” Lance blurted. 

“Oh…  _ Oh!”  _ exclaimed Keith, still needing a moment to wrap his head around that even when Lance spelled it out for him. “That seems like a terrible idea, I’m a terrible liar.”

“It’s not that much of a stretch. All we gotta do is like, hug more often,” said Lance dismissively. 

“We don’t hug at  _ all  _ right now.”

“And who’s fault is that?” countered Lance, leaving Keith spluttering indignantly. “Besides, going from zero to more than zero’ll be easy,” Lance continued, unperturbed. 

“I think there’s more to marriage than that,” Keith countered. 

“So what should we do? Keep the whole thing secret?” 

It only took a moment of consideration for Keith to discard that idea out of hand. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life, you’d tell Hunk, then everyone would know.”

Lance pouted. “That’s not fair, I feel like I get a bad rep because I can’t keep a secret from Hunk  _ specifically _ . It’s  _ him  _ who spills everything further than that, not me!”

“It’s the same difference though, isn’t it?” 

“No, it’s very different—” 

“Furthermore—” Keith interrupted, “—what does it matter if we pretend when you’ll probably tell him it’s not real anyway?” 

The tips of Lance’s ears turned red.

“I think he’ll be, um, predisposed to thinking it’s real.”

Keith blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“He thinks I have a thing for you,” Lance admitted, suddenly looking everywhere except Keith’s face.

“A thing? What kind of thing?”

“You know very well what kind of  _ thing _ I mean, don’t be facetious,” snapped Lance, crossing his arms over his chest. 

He was pouting, and the heat in the tips of his ears had spread across his cheeks. 

“Oh!” gasped Keith, finally getting it. “If it’s any consolation, Shiro thinks the same thing,” he blurted. 

Lance gave him a funny look. “Shiro thinks I’m into you?”

“No, other way around. Shiro thinks you’re my type.”

“Is Shiro right?” Lance was clearly fishing for a compliment. 

Keith knew better than to give it to him. He shrugged. “Well, you  _ are _ a man. Men are my type.” That reply seemed to satisfy him. 

“So is that what we’ll tell everyone? After months of being roommates, we’ve fallen madly in love and decided to get married?”

As if it was a sign from above, their next-door neighbor started blasting electronic dance music. The bass was so loud it rattled the thin wall that separated them. 

“Sounds good to me,” said Keith, raising his voice to be heard above the music.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Lance warned him in advance, before the sun had even risen on Friday morning: “I’m gonna kiss you at the ceremony, Keith. Wouldn’t be right if I didn’t. Wouldn’t feel like we’re really husbands.”

Keith rolled his eyes, watching Lance fiddle with the sleeves of his nicest shirt. Keith was wearing Lance’s second nicest shirt because it was much nicer than Keith’s nicest  _ anything,  _ and Lance had insisted after taking one look at what Keith had intended to wear. (“You can’t wear  _ black  _ to our wedding, Keith!”) 

“We  _ aren’t  _ really gonna be husbands, Lance,” Keith reminded him.

“Aw, babe, don’t be like that.”

“Like  _ what?  _ Realistic?”

“Unromantic.” 

Keith snorted. “Fine, you can have your kiss, but don’t call me babe.”

“Okay, what about baby?” 

“Do I look like a baby to you?” said Keith flatly. 

“Everybody’s somebody’s baby. How ‘bout honey?” continued Lance, totally unperturbed. “Sweetheart? My love?” 

“What’s wrong with _ Keith? _ ” His cheeks felt hot. There was something about those sorts of words rolling smoothly out of Lance’s mouth aimed at him... 

“Nothing, except there’s no way I  _ wouldn’t _ use cutesy pet-names with my husband.” 

“Well there’s no way I  _ would,”  _ Keith retorted.

“You should try it, you might like it,” teased Lance, moving on from fussing with his shirt, to fussing with his hair. That was what he did when he was nervous; fidget and fuss. The perpetual motion used to irritate the hell out of Keith, but now he just found it endearing. 

Which is probably why the next word out of his mouth was: “Darling.” Trying it on for size. 

Lance froze, before turning from the mirror to look at Keith. 

“Darling works,” he murmured softly. 

* * *

It was only as the official was declaring them man and husband that it occured to Keith to be nervous about the kiss. 

Lance smiled at him beatifically, one hand reaching up to slide along his cheek and cup his face, angling Keith’s head the way he wanted, and then he leaned in to press their lips together. It was chaste. Gentle. Lance’s lips were impossibly soft... And then it was over. 

Keith’s lips tingled. When he licked them, he could taste the sweetness of the apple juice Lance had drunk at breakfast. 

Lance smiled, took his hand, and then they stepped out of the courthouse, and into their new married life.

  
  


* * *

  
  


To Keith’s pleasant surprise, the whole process of deciding to get married, and then actually  _ having _ the wedding, ended up being the hardest part. Everything after that came easily. Shockingly easy.

Their friends and family took the news, and even their mode of union—fast and sloppy—surprisingly well.

“You’ve always been impulsive, but I like Lance,” Shiro said on the matter. “He’s good for you.”

Lance reported that his mother was more miffed to have missed the wedding than anything else, and demanded that they both travel down to Florida to visit during their next break. His father on the other hand—who apparently still had nightmares about the circus that had been Lance’s sister’s wedding the spring previous—was relieved that the nuptials were done and dusted without him needing to do anything. 

They quickly found a shabby two bedroom apartment that suited their needs (and price range), moved out of their dorm, and settled down into a routine of classes, study, and part-time work.

In a lot of ways, it felt like they really  _ did  _ live in partnership. Living together and having everyone think they were married to each other meant that there were things it made sense for them to do together. 

Things like grocery shopping. Paying bills. Eating breakfast. Watching Netflix together in the evenings.

Keith liked it. He liked it a lot...

  
  


* * *

  
  


Two months into their marriage of convenience, disaster struck, and a pipe that ran above Keith’s room burst. He arrived home to find that all his worldly possessions were soaking wet, including his  _ bed. _

Because they were poor, their couch was small, sad, and lumpy—Keith was pretty sure that Lance had picked it up from the side of a road somewhere for free—but when forced to choose between damp and smelly, or cramped and lumpy, Keith picked the latter. 

“I hate this. I wanna burn it,” said Keith, deadpan and dramatic, from where he was lying on the couch as Lance puttered around the kitchen before bed. 

He had a whole routine that Keith had seen repeated so many times that he _ knew _ it by heart. It always ended with a glass of water because—  _ “hydration is important, Keith!” _

“Is it that bad?” 

Keith just looked at Lance, and then looked at where his feet dangled off the armrest pointedly.

“Well, hey, why don’t you just stay in my bed?” Lance suggested. 

“Your bed? Like…  _ with _ you?” said Keith slowly. 

“Yeah! I mean, we  _ are  _ married. What’s a little bed sharing between husbands?” 

When Lance put it that way…

“Okay, thanks.” Keith threw his shabby blanket off him and got to his feet.

Lance looked him over critically, eyes narrowed. “One caveat—you can’t wear that to my bed.” 

Keith looked down at what he was wearing—jeans, t-shirt, socks, all perfectly normal clothes.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 

“Only everything, as usual,” Lance scoffed. “If you’re gonna sleep in my bed, you have to come  _ dressed _ for bed. Go change into your pj’s, Keith.”

Keith sat back down on the couch. “Nevermind, I’ll just sleep here,” he mumbled, fussing with the blanket.

There was a beat of silence. 

“Keith… do you not  _ have _ any pjs?” Lance sounded both horrified and personally offended.

Keith crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not a big deal. I just don’t see the point in buying specific clothes just for sleeping in. If you think about it, it’s way more efficient to just have dual use clothes.” Keith had considered this before. Pajamas were  _ definitely  _ a scam—clothes were clothes, and he didn’t need special ones dedicated to sleeping. 

“WOW, that’s…  _ so  _ many types of wrong,” Lance tutted and shook his head in mock disappointment. “Come with me, you heathen.” 

“Go with you  _ where?  _ I’m sleeping  _ here. _ ” On the lumpy, crappy couch. 

“No you’re not. You’re gonna stop sulking and bunk with me, and I’m gonna lend you something appropriate to wear.” 

_ Of course _ Lance owned more than one set of pajamas. There were a lot of superfluous things Lance had, and did in Keith’s opinion. Hairdryer—what was the point? Air did the trick if you left hair long enough. Lance’s whole facial routine, with the numerous masks and lotions—Keith felt fairly certain that Lance’s skin would remain flawless without it. The iron and ironing board—Keith did not care in the slightest if anyone’s clothes were wrinkled, and he figured that that feeling ought to be reciprocated.

When Keith took too long to get up, Lance grabbed a corner of Keith’s blanket and yanked, exposing Keith’s torso to the cold of the room.

“Hey!” Keith cried indignantly, grabbing for the edge of the blanket, but Lance tugged again, ripping it away entirely. 

“I’m going to kill you if you don’t give that back,” Keith threatened, but Lance just laughed in his face. 

“Come on.” 

With a pout, Keith followed. 

He stood at the threshold of Lance’s room, shifting his weight nervously, as Lance rifled through his draws. 

“A-ha!” Lance exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out something shiny. 

“Seeing as this is your first time trying pajamas, and I want to convert you to being pro-pajamas, I’m bringing out the big guns. You should be honored Keith, the number of people I would wear these for is miniscule, and the number of people I would let wear them is even smaller, seeing as it’s just you.” He brandished some scraps of navy silk in Keith’s face.

“Taa-daa! Silk pajamas.” 

“No.” Keith crossed his arms and shook his head. 

The excitement in Lance’s eyes dimmed, and his posture seemed to deflate...

Three minutes later, Keith somehow found himself wearing the damn pajamas. It was like he saw the disappointment in Lance’s eyes, and was  _ compelled  _ to fix it. 

The silk felt flimsy and insubstantial against his skin— _ soft.  _ Keith wasn’t sure if he liked it yet; it made him feel  _ vulnerable. _

“There, look at you! Aren’t they comfy?” crooned Lance, setting his hands on Keith’s shoulders and holding him at arm's length to look him over. 

For some inexplicable reason, Keith found himself flushing, and unable to meet Lance’s gaze. He crossed his arms, shoulders hitching up towards his ears as tension coiled low in his belly. 

“I guess,” Keith admitted gruffly, provoking a fond chuckle from Lance. 

“ _ ‘I guess,’” _ Lance repeated, exaggeratedly mimicking Keith’s gruff tone.

Keith turned to Lance and glared, but it pretty much immediately melted off his face when he saw Lance’s joyful expression aimed right at him. 

Lance looked his best when he was happy. Heart-stoppingly handsome. 

“C’mon, babe. Let’s go to bed.”

_ Babe…  _ Keith would follow him anywhere. 

Lance’s room was cozier than his; he had softer lighting, and more knick knacks and personal effects scattered around that gave a lived-in feel. 

He also had nicer blankets.

“Goose feather and down,” Lance explained when Keith said so out loud. 

Lance crawled underneath the covers and shuffled over to the far side, leaving space for Keith to follow in after him. 

Keith did so gingerly, settling himself on his side facing Lance.

“Good night,” Lance whispered.

“Night,” Keith whispered back.

Lance leaned in. His arm brushed Keith’s, and he was suddenly so close Keith could smell the peppermint on his breath…

For a wild moment, Keith thought he was leaning in to  _ kiss _ him. 

There was a soft  _ click,  _ and then the bedside lamp turned off, plunging them into darkness. Keith felt Lance shift back to his side, and wiggle around a bit to get comfortable. 

He fell still. 

Keith’s heart raced long after Lance’s breathing had slowed and evened out... 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke the next morning, Keith felt soft breaths puffing against the back of his neck. He felt a strong arm curled around his waist, and a warm body pressed up against his back. He felt safe. Comfortable. 

He didn’t know how long he lay there, savoring the closeness, before Lance woke too. 

“Oh, we’re snuggling,” Lance hummed sleepily.

“Is that… okay?” said Keith hesitantly.

“I… think so? Do you think so?”

“I think so, too,” Keith answered quickly.

“Cool,” said Lance through a yawn, tightening his arm to pull Keith’s back more firmly against his chest. 

“Cool,” Keith repeated, glad Lance was behind him, and therefore couldn’t see how hot his face was. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Even after the pipe was fixed, and Keith’s bed was dry, they kept sharing Lance’s. 

Keith bought himself some pajamas, and they went to sleep every night on opposite sides of the bed, and woke in the morning curled around each other. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Keith, what flavor do you want?” 

They were at the movies, and Keith  _ really  _ wasn’t supposed to eat ice cream… but he  _ wanted  _ to. It was worth the stomach ache it would give him, but he was limiting himself to one flavor and it was hard to choose. 

“I don’t know…” Keith squinted at the cheerfully colorful squares behind the glass of the freezer, weighing up his options. Did he want chocolate, or strawberry? Buttered pecan, or cookies and cream? 

“Right, well,  _ I’ll  _ have a scoop of mint choc chip, please, and can we have a large combo?” 

“What drink would you like?” replied the cashier. 

“Babe? What drink?” Lance prompted, taking Keith’s hand and squeezing it to get his attention. Lance touched him casually all the time. At first, every touch had seared itself into Keith’s consciousness, and he’d been unable to focus on anything else. Repeated exposure however, had increased Keith’s tolerance. 

“Uh, fanta,” Keith replied. 

“ _ Fanta? _ Jeez, you’re such a weirdo. I can’t believe we’re married,” said Lance, wrinkling his nose. 

“You asked!  _ You  _ pick if you don’t like it,” Keith retorted, flushing. When Lance said things like that, he made it sound like they were  _ really  _ married. It was embarrassing how much Keith liked it.

Lance rolled his eyes, but told the cashier fanta nonetheless, and Keith finally decided that he wanted a scoop of boysenberry. Lance only dropped Keith’s hand when they needed them to carry all their snacks.

In the cinema, the drink was settled in the holder between their seats, and Keith held the tub of popcorn in his lap. 

Once Lance polished off his ice cream, he scooted in close, and slung his arm casually over the back of Keith’s seat so he could easily grab handfuls of popcorn with his other hand.

Eventually, Lance’s arm slid down and ended up slung over Keith’s shoulders—a warm weight that made Keith feel safe, not trapped. Keith felt it vibrate through his body every time Lance laughed at something on the screen, and he struggled to keep his attention on the movie, and away from Lance’s smiling face.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Lance:**

Keith

Keeeeithhh

U home?

**Keith:**

Why?

**Lance:**

forgot my keys :( 

Twenty minutes later, Keith jogged up the steps of the physiotherapist practice where Lance was currently completing his practicum. 

“Hi, I’m here for Lance…” he told the receptionist awkwardly. Should he leave Lance’s keys with her? Or should he wait? 

Her smile was kindly. “Take a seat, dear.” 

When Lance walked into the room a few minutes later, he looked surprised to see him. 

“Babe, did you come all this way just to bring me my keys?” 

“Uh, yeah? I mean, you texted me you forgot them. What did you expect?” Keith shifted his weight, feeling awkward under the weight of Lance’s surprise. It was just as well Lance didn’t know all the things Keith would be willing to do for him if he wished it. It was an embarrassingly long, and exhaustive list. 

“I was gonna ask you to put it under the house mat or something, I didn’t expect you to bring it all the way out here—”

“Well, I did,” said Keith bluntly, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Who’s this, Lance?” called the receptionist. 

“This is my husband, Keith,” Lance replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say. As if Keith was his real husband, who’d dropped off his keys for him when he’d forgotten them. 

“Oh,  _ Keith.  _ I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushed, a knowing look on her face. 

Lance’s face turned an interesting color, and he cleared his throat loudly.

“Right, well, thanks for that—” he herded Keith towards the door with an arm around his waist. 

“See you later at home, gotta get back to work, bye!” he kissed Keith on the cheek, and then he pushed him out the door.

Keith’s cheek burned the whole way home. Lance’s lips were still soft.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Keith already knew subconsciously. 

The feeling had been steadily building ever since he and Lance had become friends, and  _ exponentially  _ increasing since they’d married each other. 

Lance was the first person he saw when he woke, and the last person he saw before he went to sleep. Lance knew how he liked his coffee, and Keith knew how Lance liked his eggs, (black with sugar, and scrambled with peppers respectively). Lance was the person Keith wanted to talk to about his day. He wanted to be the person Lance leaned on if he was having problems. He wanted to be the person that held Lance when he wanted to be held, kissed him when he wanted to be kissed. 

He wanted to be the person that made Lance happy. 

And he had no idea what to do about it. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It turned out, he didn’t have to do anything. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


On his way home from classes a few days later, a car sideswiped Keith, sending him flying to the ground, and his leaving his hands and knees a scraped up, bloody mess. The asshole didn’t even stop to make sure that they hadn’t killed him, but they sure had killed his poor old push bike—the chain was snapped, the frame was bent out of shape, and the back tire was popped. 

Keith’s crappy phone was dead too, so he couldn’t even call anyone for a lift. It took him an hour to limp all the way home, half pushing his broken bike, half using it to lean against to make walking easier. And of course the elevator was unavailable due to maintenance when he arrived. Dragging his bruised self up the stairs was slow and painful. 

When he finally got inside the apartment, he was almost ready to cry with relief. He let himself collapse on the couch; Keith was officially done with the day. Everything hurt, and he refused to move again unless he absolutely had to. 

“That you, Keith?” came Lance’s voice from the direction of his room. “You’re back late,” his voice drew closer. “What did you— _ OH MY GOD!”  _

Lance was in front of him in a few ground-eating strides of those long long legs, and then he was kneeling in front of him, and his hands were on Keith’s face. They were warm.

“What happened to you!” he cried, aghast, turning Keith’s face this way and that to examine him. 

“You should see my bike,” Keith joked weakly. 

Lance gave him a severe look, so Keith answered properly. “Car sideswiped me, knocked me down at the intersection on Freedmount.”

“That’s ages away, did you walk from there? Why didn’t you call me?” Keith mourned the loss of Lance’s hands on his face when they left him, but Lance immediately put his nimble fingers to work undoing the zipper of Keith’s hoodie, which was… interesting. Lance very carefully maneuvering it off of him, moving even slower and more carefully when Keith winced at the shifting of fabric over his bloody elbows.

“Phone’s dead,” Keith explained. 

“I’m gonna get the first aid kit—”

“We have a first aid kit?”

“—take off your pants, your knees are all bloody too.” 

Keith did as he was told, leaving him in just his t-shirt and boxers. 

When Lance returned, he proceeded to dab at Keith’s scrapes with something that smelled astringent and stung like hell, before wrapping everything up carefully with bandages. 

“You’re good at this,” Keith mumbled, watching Lance handle his knee as if it were made of delicate porcelain.

“Lucky for you,” Lance replied.

Once Keith was patched up to his satisfaction, Lance wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and pressed a cup of hot tea into his hands. He turned on the TV and put on something mindless, and then he settled himself in beside Keith, slinging an arm along the back of the couch behind him. 

“There, all better,” he declared, leaning down the short distance necessary to press a kiss to the top of Keith’s head. It made Keith feel molten, and he melted into Lance’s side.

“You’re good at this,” he repeated.

“You already said that, but I guess the repetition doesn’t hurt,” said Lance, smiling one of Keith’s favorite smiles right at his face. The slightly smug smirky one.

“No—I meant—” what did Keith mean? “ _ Before _ I meant fixing me up.”

“What did you mean this time?” Lance’s arm migrated from the couch, to Keith’s shoulders. He was leaning in very close…

“Being a husband,” said Keith helplessly. “Being… being  _ my _ husband.”

“I think you’re a good husband too. I think… we’re good together,” said Lance, eyes shining like sapphires. Lance took Keith’s mug of tea away, and set it down on the coffee table.

Aching slow,  _ so _ slow Keith thought he might die, Lance leaned in until their foreheads pressed together.

Their breath mingled.

“Lance…  _ please. _ Can we—?” 

“Yeah—”

Keith didn’t know who kissed who first. All he knew was that Lance’s lips were against his, and they were soft. They felt  _ right.  _

Keith curled his hands into fistfulls of Lance’s shirt as they kissed. As supernovas flashed behind his eyelids, and shooting stars rained all over his skin where they touched. 

_ Finally _ said the stars.  _ He’s your future... _

“So, listen,” said Lance quietly, pulling back a few centimeters, stroking Keith’s cheek with his thumb. His breathing was deliciously elevated, and it made Keith’s heart soar with pride because  _ he  _ was responsible for that. He was solely responsible for how delightfully disheveled Lance was. 

“I know we’re doing this kind of out of order, but do you wanna go on a date with me? Saturday night?” 

“ _ Yes,”  _ answered Keith giddily, and then he closed the distance between them again. __

They didn’t speak again until Keith’s tea had long gone cold, forgotten in favor of something hotter. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Much later that night, they went to bed curled up together.

“I’m gonna make you happy, Lance. I’m gonna try really—” Keith yawned. “—hard.” 

Lance hugged him closer, kissed his forehead. “I’m sure you will, babe. Sweet dreams... I love you.” The last three words were spoken so softly it was as if Lance couldn’t help breathing them. As if they just had to come out.

“Love you too,” Keith answered. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for Home: A Domestic Klance Zine which you can download for free [here](https://twitter.com/home_zine/status/1234526859154640897?s=21).
> 
> You can find me [here](https://greenteafiend.tumblr.com/) on tumblr or [here](https://twitter.com/greenteafiend1) on twitter :)


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